


The Fucking Bliss

by MoMoMomma



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Begging, Bliss (Far Cry), Dirty Talk, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:36:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25140241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoMoMomma/pseuds/MoMoMomma
Summary: Jacob’s pretty sure he’s dreaming for a split second. Because Pratt is an idiot and weak, at best, but he’s not actively suicidal most days.
Relationships: Staci Pratt/Jacob Seed
Comments: 1
Kudos: 126





	The Fucking Bliss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [9shadowcat9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/9shadowcat9/gifts).



> *THIS FIC CONTAINS SEX UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF THE BLISS. THE CONSENT IS EXTREMELY DUBIOUS. THIS WOULD NOT HAPPEN IF ONE CHARACTER WAS IN THEIR RIGHT MIND. Please be aware of your own triggers and remember that your own safety should come before the consumption of any media.*

“Heeeey, Jacob. Jake. Big man.” 

Jacob’s pretty sure he’s dreaming for a split second. Because Pratt is an idiot and weak, at best, but he’s not actively suicidal most days.

Well, not anymore anyhow. 

So the fact that he’s sprawled in the doorway, letting one of the jambs hold his weight up as he grins across the room at Jacob and waggles his fingers in a wave the second Jacob actually looks at him, is...concerning. Not to mention the slurred drawl that had torn his attention from his paperwork in the first place.

“Who snuck alcohol into the compound?” Jacob grunts, setting his pen aside and closing his folders.

Pratt shakes his head with a laugh--a fucking _laugh_ \--and strides forward into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. It’s a leisurely sort of walk, almost a strut, Pratt’s body moving in a way that Jacob’s never seen before. There’s a looseness to his limbs, like they’re not all connected, and Jacob finds himself reaching for his gun without thinking.

Unpredictable is dangerous. _New_ is dangerous. And this is all fucking new to him. 

“S’not alcohol.” Pratt’s still advancing on him, even after glancing purposefully at where Jacob’s hand sits near his holster. “I wouldn’t. Know that’s a rule. Don’t wanna break the rules. Wanna be…”

He stops, back of his hand against his mouth doing little to stifle the snorts of laughter. Pratt’s shoulders shake as he does a terrible job of muffling his giggles, eyes creased up and cheeks bright red by the time he manages to look up at Jacob once more.

“Wanna be _good_. Good for you.”

What the actual hell.

“Pratt, get the fuck out. Before I do something I won’t regret but you sure as hell will.”

“I just wanted to--” is he _pouting_? God in Heaven, Jacob’s not gonna survive this. “I wanted to see you. I felt good and I wanted you to feel good too.”

“Go sleep it off, I’m not interested in babysitting drunken Deputies tonight.”

“I’m not drunk.” The way Pratt stomps his foot doesn’t really help him sell the point. “I haven’t drank a damn thing.”

He looks at Jacob for a moment, considering, before he moves again. Slow enough that Jacob isn’t tempted to pull his gun from the holster, but with purpose. With a destination in mind.

Which is apparently Jacob’s fucking lap.

“Jesus, Pratt.” Jacob snarls, leaning back in the chair and moving his hand away from his weapon to grab two fistfuls of the man’s shirt. “What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?”

“Smell my breath.” Pratt leans forward and exhales, in a way Jacob thinks is supposed to be sexy but really just comes off as awkward. “No alcohol. Haven’t drank anything.”

He’s right. There’s no telltale sourness to his breath to indicate Pratt’s been sneaking whiskey like some of the other soldiers do while Jacob pretends not to pay attention. Instead, he smells sweet. Sickly sweet, like too much sugar in the Kool-Aid. A sweet that Jacob is achingly familiar with and makes his curse under his breath, narrowing his eyes at Pratt’s satisfied grin.

“What Bliss did you get into?”

“New stuff.” Pratt waves a hand and then tracks it with sudden intensity, like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. “Faith sent it. Said it was for...for spreading love. To make love and not war.”

He is going to wring her neck and then he’s going to wring Joseph’s for ever allowing a child to play around with dangerous chemicals. 

“Go sleep off the high somewhere else.”

“You’re so...broad.” Pratt’s fingers dance over his shoulders and Jacob has to grit his teeth to fight the shiver. “You’re a big guy, Jake. Anyone ever tell you that’s like...super hot? So fucking hot.”

Pratt exhales slow, shuddery, head tipping forwards until it’s braced against Jacob’s, both of them sharing the same air. Jacob shifts under his weight, fighting the fact that his cock is perking up at the attention and losing spectacularly when Pratt slits his eyes open and murmurs the next words practically into his mouth. 

“Bet you could hold me down. Strong enough for it. Hold me down, hold me up….fuck me however you want. Just… _use_ me.”

Pratt’s not in his right mind. He probably doesn’t even actually know who Jacob is, doesn’t remember their history. Just thinks he’s another guy that he knows and not someone who’s done their best to break him over the past month. 

But he’s...soft. Gentle. Touching Jacob like Jacob is something he wants, like _this_ is something he wants. Running his fingers down his arms and back up, around to his nape, nails scratching at his skull like he’s petting him. 

Jacob hasn’t had anything like this in a long time. No one looks at him like Pratt is right now, not anymore. Hasn’t since the war and the scars and the darkness that has consumed him so fully others must be able to see it lingering in his eyes. 

Pratt is weak...maybe right now, in the privacy of this moment...maybe Jacob can be too.

Jacob doesn’t allow himself second thoughts. Slips his hands under Pratt’s ass, gathers him close, and stands from the chair. Pratt purrs, linking his arms around Jacob’s neck with a hissed “yes”. Jacob lets himself be pulled into the kiss that Pratt demands, letting Pratt take his mouth as he pleases, sloppy and unpracticed but eager nonetheless.

It’s only a few short steps to the bed that Jacob doesn’t nearly sleep long enough in. The sheets are still a mess from his last nightmare and he can’t help but think they look a hundred times better once he’s dumped Pratt into a sprawl on top of them. 

“Gonna fuck me?” Pratt stretches, an enticing roll of his body that makes Jacob’s hands shake as they tear at his belt and zipper. “Like it. Done it a few times before. Never with someone as big as you.”

Pratt’s eyes are slitted like a cat and yet Jacob can still see that his pupils are eating up the iris until there’s nearly no color left.

“Bet you’re gonna wreck me. Ruin me for anyone else.”

“Get your fucking pants off.” Jacob snaps, kicking his boots and pants into the ether underneath the bed and lunging for the small cabinet near the head. 

Pratt nearly knocks him in the head in his rush to do the same, though he throws every bit of his clothing off the bed when Jacob doesn’t have the patience to get his shirt or jacket off. It’s a fumble to get his hands around the lotion--expensive shit John had shoved into his hands once when Jacob was sunburned to hell and his scars were standing out in the worst way--and Jacob nearly yanks half the contents of the drawer out getting it. 

Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters right now except the way Pratt’s got his legs spread like a whore, cock thick and hard against his belly, fingers down between his cheeks. He moans loud when his finger slips in, Jacob watching stupefied, bottle nearly slipping to the floor as his hands go suddenly numb. 

Though that could be because he’s pretty sure all the blood in his body is in his cock right now. 

“C’mon. You do it. You’ve got bigger fingers. Stretch me open, fill me up.”

“Bossy little thing.” Jacob can’t help but tease, kneeling between Pratt’s legs and knocking his hand out of the way. 

He feels drunk too, like he’s floating as he soaks his hand in way too much lotion and slips two fingers inside. Pratt reaches up, grips the sheets near his head, legs spreading impossibly wider around Jacob’s bulk. There’s so little resistance, Jacob figures the Bliss probably works as one hell of a relaxant, especially this strand. 

But he forces himself to take his time. Give Pratt a chance to come to his senses and bolt out of the room like Jacob’s holding a knife to his throat. 

He doesn’t. He moans for more and more and _more_ until Jacob is twisting four fingers inside his hole, watching it stretch, grinding his fingers into Pratt’s prostate until he’s leaking onto his belly. 

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” Pratt chants, hands in his own hair now, pulling at the greasy strands like he’s going out of his mind. “Jake, do it. Fuck me. Give me your cock until I can’t fucking think. Want you to stretch me open until I can’t _breathe_.”

Jacob’s hands are shaking. He can’t steady them either, despite taking a few slow breaths as he slicks up his cock. He feels like a fumbling fucking virgin again, like he’s about to get his dick wet for the first time in a secluded juvie room. Pratt’s not helping either, hands reaching down to hook behind his knees and open himself up like he’s getting paid for his time here. 

Pratt inhales so sharply when Jacob pushes the head of his cock inside that it feels like he steals the air from Jacob’s lungs. Or that could be the way that his body clenches down, like all the looseness from earlier was just a ruse to get Jacob inside. It’s like a vice grip around his cock and Jacob groans, dropping his head to Pratt’s chest as he rolls his hips, working his way inside slowly. 

“Yes, Jake, _yes_.” Pratt’s arching his back, pressing into every small thrust, still holding himself wide open. “Fuck me. Do it. Rough. Don’t be gentle.”

Fucking hell. He’s gonna kill them both. 

Jacob obeys. Mostly because he can’t control himself anymore, can’t think of anything except the warmth of Pratt’s body around him and the lewd noises of the lotion squelching with his movements. He lets himself rut into Pratt’s body, fucking him so hard that he has to sit back, sit up, grabbing ahold of Pratt’s hips to yank him down or risk knocking him unconscious on the wall. 

It’s brutal. It’s harsh and reckless and rough in ways that Jacob hasn’t been in a very long time. He’s had to be gentle with past lovers, reign in his strength. But Pratt is taking every thrust and begging for more, hand wrapped around his cock and pumping in time with the furious pace.

He’s crying. Sobbing. Tears streaking down his temples and into his hair and he’s still muttering “yes, Jake, yes. Fuck me open. Rip me apart. Make me _yours_.” 

Until he inhales sharply once more and then holds it. Vapor locks into place and then shakes apart all at once. Come spurts over his knuckles, onto his belly and chest, and Pratt screams as Jacob fucks him through it, reaching up to claw at his shoulders. 

He should stop. It’s probably overstimulating. Probably gonna be bad if Jacob keeps going. 

But Pratt’s begging him to keep fucking him, fill him up, and “don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Jacob comes with a groan, burying the sound into Pratt’s chest as Pratt wraps his arms tight around his shoulders and sobs his thanks. Thanks Jacob as he fucks every last drop of come inside him, legs wrapped around his waist, keeping him in place even once Jacob’s shaken through the last of his aftershocks. 

“Th’best.” Pratt slurs, patting at the back of Jacob’s head. “Knew you were. Always wanted to fuck you. From when I first saw you. Wanted you to wreck me.”

His voice grows softer and softer as he speaks, until the last words are little more than a whisper. 

“And you did.”

Then his body goes limp. Legs falling back to the mattress and arms a heavy weight around Jacob’s neck. He draws back slowly, watching Pratt’s head loll to the side, breathing evened out into unconsciousness. He barely even murmurs when Jacob draws out, studiously keeping his eyes off the way that his come starts to leak out, visible with the wide spread of Pratt’s legs. 

Getting dressed is when the regrets set in. Jacob pulls his pants back on, shoves his feet into his boots, and tries not to throw up. It was consensual, Pratt wanted it but...what is consent when one party is drugged out of their fucking mind? He’s not an idiot, he knows people get high and fuck strangers all the time but…

He and Pratt aren’t strangers. And Jacob doesn’t think that if Pratt was sober, he’d ever even consider actually letting Jacob fuck him. Much less beg for it. 

He settles himself in his office chair and waits. Can’t focus on anything as the night slips by, the sounds of darkness giving way to birdsong of a new day. Watches Pratt as he moves in his sleep, curls onto his side, stretches back out. Tries to get comfortable without coming out of unconsciousness. 

Until he does. Until Jacob sees his brow crease and eyes open slowly, back to clear and coherent. He sits up with a hand on his head, groaning slightly, looking down at himself before slowly back up at Jacob. 

Horror is written in every inch of his face. Pratt doesn’t have any coloring left, white as a ghost, as his throat is working like he’s going to scream. Or throw up. He draws his legs up into his chest, protecting himself, staring at Jacob like he expects he’s going to meet his end here and now. 

“We don’t talk about this ever again.” Jacob says shortly, hoping the gruff note in his voice comes off as pissed and not like he’s talking around the lump in his throat.

Stupid hopes. Dumb dreams that someone wanted him. Jacob Seed isn’t a man that people lust over, especially not pretty young Deputies like Pratt.

“I--I don’t--”

“Get dressed and get out, Pratt.”

He doesn’t waste any time, though Jacob sees the telltale freeze when he shoots to his feet, probably feeling the come drip down his thigh. Pratt’s muttering under his breath, madness back in full swing, probably trying to figure out what happened. Jacob wants to ask if he remembers, if he knows that he asked for it.

_Begged_ for it.

But he doesn’t say anything. Waits in silence as Pratt gets dressed and darts from the room without a backward glance. 

And decides that Pratt can have a few days of rest. No more trials for a bit. Even if he doesn’t remember it, Jacob does. And he will allow himself to be weak for a while, weak for Pratt. 

Meanwhile, he’s got a few radio calls to make. One particularly angry one to the Henbane that’s going to help him deal with a lot of the rage swelling in his chest. 

Fucking Bliss.


End file.
